Dragonborn Drabbles: Skyrim Freewriting
by mythlover20
Summary: Randomness from my current Skyrim pt with my utterly Mary Sue character: Freya Olafsen: Nord, Stormcloak, accidental Vampire, Thief/Nightingale, Talosian whose terrified of magic, daedra, and is a little bit racist but I'm working on curing her of that. Thane of Whiterun, Windhelm, Markarth, Morthal, and soon Solitude. In love with Calder but in denial. M for safety. No editing.


Freya opened the door to Hjerim, tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a good drink. She had sent Calder home from Riften with most of her armour, weapons, and potions before she had reported back to the Guild, notifying Vex and Devlin of her latest completed jobs. Vex wasn't too happy with Freya being seen stealing the jewels from the Solitude home, but Devlin had been thrilled with her latest haul. After selling off her loot to Irileth, Freya had been left with nothing but a few ingredients, and the clothes on her back, a full half-day after Calder left. The purseful of gold she had acquired for her work had to be spent on a carriage ride back through the tunda to Winterhelm. Freya had climbed out of the carriage, slowly dragged her weary form across the bridge into Winterhelm proper. She wandered past the merchants and townsfolk, fully conscious of the questioning glares that pierced her back. Finally, she was home. She expected to be able to have a drink, something to eat, and to fall face first in her bed, knowing that everything was safe. At least for a little while.

What she most certainly did not expect was to come home to an empty house, the fire long cold, and a bitter wind blowing through an open window, leaving a pile of snow all over her display cases.

Freya dropped the arrows she had left on the floor. "What in oblivion?" she muttered. "Calder? Calder!" she called.

Only harsh silence answered her cries.

Freya shook her head and picked up her arrows, carrying them through into the bedroom where she dropped them in her chest. She took a quick look around. Everything was normal, and there was no Calder hiding in the corner, eating a loaf of bread while staring at her bed the way Lydia had before Freya killed her. Freya sighed. She gazed longingly at the bed, with it's soft sheets and warm furs. _That will have to wait, I guess,_ Freya thought.

Freya left her room, and quickly checked Calder's across the hall from hers. He wasn't there either. She ran downstairs and checked the kitchen. He wasn't there either. No Calder in the alchemy and enchanting lab either, nor in the living room. Hands on her hips, looking around, the Thane of Winterhelm stomped her foot in irritation like a child. "Where in oblivion is that bastard?!" she thought. "I sent him back before me, he should _be here_!" Thoughts of concern for her housecarl flicked across her mind, until she realised...

"Bloody hell! That bastard _has my stuff!_" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

A cold gust of wind blew down the stairs. The feel of snowflakes melting against her skin brought her back to reality. She looked around her dark home, and sighed. "I guess _I_ have to clean all this up now," she muttered to herself. Though her bed was calling to her, Freya turned and headed into the kitchen. Her first task was lighting the fire. Thankfully, Freya always had Calder stack new logs and kindling in the pit before they left, so all she had to do was light it. Before long the kitchen was warming up.

Freya smiled to herself. Calder thought she couldn't light a fire, and not because she was a vampire. He believed her incapable of it, despite her growing up the only child of a widowed father in Riften, where winters were just as harsh as the rest of Skyrim, and the snow just as deep.

Taking a pan from the shelf, Freya filled it with coals, transferring some to the second fire pit in the kitchen, the kindling and logs quickly catching fire. The rest she took through the house, lighting the brazers in every room, ending in her bedroom. By the time she was finished it was as warm as a midsummer's day. Her leather Guild armour stuck to her skin, chaffing in all the wrong places. Freya wiped a trail of sweat from her brow. "Where is Calder?" she thought. "He better not have run off with my stuff." After a quick stopover in Riverwood so Freya could steal back the Golden Claw, she had spotted a camp across the river where a tailor had set up camp. The poor woman had been stung to death by wild bees while collecting honey from their hive, but she had left behind a trunk full of new clothes previously destined for the Riverwood and Whiterun Traders. Freya had wasted no time helping herself to the clothes, eager to restock her wardrobe with clothing she had actually liked, her years as an indentured servant in Cyrodil having bestowed within her a longing for the wealthier women's robes.

Which meant that most of what Calder was carrying was her new clothes, clothes she needed because she had sold off all the ugly stuff that had come with the house. Clothes she did not have because trusted Calder to be home when she returned! All she had left now was her armour and her underwear!

"Bloody Divine-damned, useless, good-for-nothing... MAN!" Freya yelled. "I bet he gave it all to the first pretty piece of tail he came across."

There was nothing for it though, the snow from the open window was starting to melt, and the window was still open. Freya ran out as quickly as she could, her leggings chaffing her thighs, and the armour rubbing her breasts raw, and pushed the window closed. Without the cold air coming in the house felt so much warmer. Bloody oath I can't stand it anymore, Freya thought. She quickly looked around, and listened for the sounds of another Nord in the house. Her vampire ears detected no motion.

Freya sighed. At least I'm not going to have to suffer Calder turning his nose up at my naked body again. Once was most definitely enough! she thought. And besides, how often do I get my house to myself?

She smiled at that last thought. It was true, she never got the house to herself. Calder was always running around the lower floors, eating and drinking, his big boots stomping across the floorboards and waking her up in the middle of the night. Peace and quiet. It was something she got far too little of.

Smiling Freya hobbled to the mannequin she designated for her Guild armour. She quickly unbuckled herself, stripping down to her smalls, and placing the pieces on the dummy. She even gave the mannequin a little smack on the forehead when she was done. Yes, peace and quiet, that was all she needed.

Good mood restored and feeling no where near as hot the near-naked Freya hobbled down to the alchemy station, quickly mixing up some salve for the rash and applying it before replacing her underwear. After making a quick detour to the kitchen to place water over the fire to boil she made her way back to the second floor, extra pans and rags in her hands, and she tackled the snowy mess on her floor.

Finally the armoury was done. The landing was clean and dry, her weapons were stored, and she had even cleaned her armour of sweat. All there was left to do was to sweep away the snow she had tracked in. Freya sighed happily. Just that last thing to go, and then she could sleep.

Gathering the pans full of snow Freya made her way downstairs, placing the pots back in to the kitchen. She could use the melted water for cleaning at a later date. Grabbing the broom from beside the door, Freya went back out and started sweeping. Humming a little tune to herself, Freya lost herself in the work, and a happy little daydream where she had never been moved to Riften because the army needed extra smiths for the war. A daydream where her father hadn't been killed by an Imperial soldier because a blade he had to make with cheap materials broke during a practice session. A daydream where she hadn't ended up in Grelda's orphanage, hadn't had to escape to Cyrodil, to steal to survive, and hadn't been caught, and "rescued" by a wealthy but utterly corrupt politician and forced to work as a servant.

Just a happy little daydream, where she had grown up the way all Skyrim girls grew up. A happy little daydream where the house she now lived was the house she had bought with her husband, and would one day be filled with their children. A daydream, where she was loved, wanted, and where her biggest concern was what to cook for dinner.

Just a happy little daydream, dreamt as she swept the rug in front of the door. So caught up was Freya in the fantasy that she didn't notice the man standing behind her until he spoke. "What are you doing, Thane?" Calder asked.

Freya jumped and squealed, the broom flying from her hands and clattering to the floor. She spun around, and stared at her housecarl. "_Calder?_" she asked, indignant "What the... when by the Nine Divines did _you_ get here?"

Calder blinked. "About twenty minutes ago." he said quietly. "I'm surprised you didn't know. I thought vampires could hear everything."

Freya crossed her arms. "Apparently not."

Calder nodded. "Apparently not," he repeated, frowning. Then,"I did not expect you to be here," he stated.

Freya rested her weight back on her left leg. "And I expected you to be here waiting for me. Where in Oblivion were you?"

Calder blinked again, and swayed a little. "I was attacked by vampires outside of Shor's Stone. I had to go back to Riften to see a priest."

That got her attention. "Vampires?" Freya asked, her voiced raised in concern. "By Talos, Calder! Are you well? Were you hurt? Did you get to the priest in time."

Calder waved her questions away with a faint wave of his hand. "Yes to all," he said, moving to sit at the bench, facing her. "I was hurt, but not badly. I got to the priest later that day, where they cured me and tended my wounds. I am well."

Freya followed her housecarl's movements, and moved to stand in front of him. Her nostrils flared, a bitter, coppery scent filling her nose, and not for the first time during their conversation. A scent she knew all too well, and one that made her stomach churn and her heart clench. "You are well, Calder?" she repeated.

Calder shook his head, frustrated. "Yes, I am well. Quit pestering me, woman!"

Freya stooped down, getting right into her housecarl's face. She stared deeply into his hazel eyes, waiting as Calder grew increasingly uncomfortable under her gaze. "Really, Calder?" she murmured quietly. "If you are so well, why are you bleeding?"

Calder's pale complexion paled even further. "I- I-" he stuttered.

Freya straightened, and let her arms fall to her sides. "What happened, Calder?"

Calder swallowed. "I was attacked by wolves just outside of town. But, they weren't wolves. They were men, too. I had never seen such beasts before."

The news hit Freya like a blow to the stomach. She fell back away from Calder, her eyes wide in fear. "W- werewolves? You were attacked by werewolves?"

The only natural enemy a vampire had. Werewolves were stronger, faster, and far deadlier than anything she could ever turn into. yet the fear which gripped her heart was not for herself. It was for the man sitting in front of her, trembling, held up by nothing more than the ridged armour he was wearing.

Calder's blood seeped through the gouges of his armour. His eyes blinked, and blinked again, slowly closing. Half conscious Calder fell forward from the chair. With her vampyric speed Freya was immediately in front of him, pushing him back on to the bench. "Divines damn you, Calder. You're not doing this to me now." She leaned him against the table and grabbed an open bottle of mead, dumping the golden liquid right on to his face. Calder jerked, sputtering. "By all the gods, woman!" he exclaimed, and tried to get up and away from her. "What was that for?"

Freya pushed him back down onto the bench with one hand. "Stay there, Calder," she said sternly. "Do not move."

Freya raced to the lab, grabbing all the health and Cure Disease potions she had before racing back out. Calder was trying to undo the buckle on his left side with one hand, the other pressed to his side where the worst of the blood was seeping though. Freya rushed over, and pushed his hand away. "Here," she said. "Let me do it." She pushed the potions into his hands. "Drink these."

Wordlessly Calder each and every one as Freya unbuckled his armour. Freya spared one thought for his lack of protest before concentrating on removing his armour as gently as possible.

But no amount of care could stop Calder's cry as the bent and torn metal scrapped over his open wounds. The jagged teeth of what once protected him tore new holes in his flesh. Fresh blood poured from his wounds to pool on the floor beneath their feet.

Carelessly Freya threw Calder's armour to the side, and bent closer to assess his injury's. Most were superficial, but several on his left flank tore right through to Calder's underlying muscle. Freya paled. An injury like this... how had she not noticed him when he arrived? How could she have not smelled the blood leaking throughout the house. How had Calder even made it home. Shaking furiously, Freya pressed a hand against the worst of the wounds, holding the skin closed.

Calder hissed. His head fell back and his entire body shook with pain. Freya paled at the sight of her housecarl so frail. The hands she held against him stopped the bleeding from that one wound but the others... The potions weren't enough. She needed to stop the bleeding and bandage the wounds but a quick glance around told her that there was nothing she could use. In fact the only pieces of cloth she had were...

Immediately Freya untied the straps of her bra with one hand and pressed the fabric hard against Calder's wounds. With her other hand she grabbed Calder's and pressed it to the blood soaked material. "Here, Calder. Hold his," she ordered. Barely stopping to make sure she ran to the door and flung it open. The younger Shatter-Shield girl screamed as she walked past, the sight of her neighbour half naked and covered in bright red blood undoubtedly reminded her of the ritual her sister was murdered for. Before the girl could run Freya pierced her with her gaze. "You, go get the priest. Right now. And tell him to bring a healer and as many potions as he can carry." she yelled.

The girl ran in the direction of the Temple. Freya could only hope that she was going for the priest and not a guard and she left the door open and ran into the kitchen for the hot water and clean rags.

She ran back to Calder, her housecarl pale and slumped forward, his pressure on the seeping wound weakening. Freya knelt before him, and dipped one of the rags in the boiling water, before holding it against one of the lesser wounds. Calder jerked at the contact, hissed at the feel of the cloth dragging across the skin. "Gods, woman..."

"Shh, Calder," Freya whispered. "It's alright. We have to get these wounds clean, before they become infected, all right?"

Calder nodded, and his hand pressed harder against his side. "All right. Do what you have to," he groaned.

Freya swapped the bloody bra for a fresh rag, and cleaned and bandaged the wounds she could, but the larger one... she didn't know what to do. She didn't have anything that could treat a wound that bad.

Calder's head fell to her shoulder. A soft moan issued from his lips. His breathing grew light and shallow. He had lost so much blood... A small tear trailed down Freya's cheek. "No, Calder, don't you dare. You're not giving up on me now." she said softly.

Calder sighed softly. "I don't mean to, my Thane."

Calder's hand slid from his wound, his weight fully resting on Freya. Shaking she drew her free hand up, and her fingers threading themselves though Calder's hair. "Calder?" She shook the shoulder he was resting on. "Calder?"

Without warning a rough hand pulled her away from her dying housecarl, and the Priest of Talos and local alchemist took her place. They propped Calder up, and tended to him as a City guard pulled her away from scene and into the kitchen. The guard threw her in the chair by the door, blocking her view of the living room. "Just what happened here, may I ask?" she said sternly

Freya shook her head. "Calder came home while I was cleaning. He said he had been attacked by werewolves. Then he went weak and almost fell and I made him drink all the potions we had, then called out to the Shatter-Shield girl to get the priest, and I tried to tend to his wounds but they wouldn't stop bleeding, and..."

The guard watched two large tears fall down the Thane of Winterhelm's face before the woman could brush them away. For the first time the guard saw actual emotion coming from the BoneBreaker. Freya tried to look around the woman to see what was happening to Calder. The guard stepped back into her line of sight. "And why aren't you wearing any clothes?"

Freya blinked. "What?" she asked. The guard gestured to her chest. Freya looked down. Her bare breasts stared back at her. "Oh, by the gods!" she exclaimed. She immediately brought her arms up to cover her breasts from view. The guard chuckled. "Don't worry, we're all women here."

Freya jerked her chin in the direction of the lounge room. "We are, but they aren't!"

The guard sighed. "I'll go get you some clothes to wear, shall I?"

Freya shook her head. "I don't have anything other than my armour, and it's dirty." She looked up into the guard's eyes. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked.

The guard shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know." she said.

Freya bent her head, and stared at her blood-soaked feet. She stared until the Priest came in, and whispered in the guard's ear. The guard nodded. "Well, I'll be off then, Thane. Stay out of trouble."

Freya barely lifted her head as the guard left. Her question she directed towards the priest. "Is he going to be alright?" she asked again.

"Talos willing he will make a full recovery," the priest stated. "We have moved him into the master bedroom where he will be more comfortable."

Freya nodded, not mentioning that they put a single man in her bedroom. Finally she looked up into the priest's eyes. The understanding she saw in them was for more than just Calder's condition. She didn't like that. She stood. "Is that all?" she asked, her tone direct to the point of being harsh.

The priest's eyes narrowed. "We've left extra potions with you. Get him to take one every day for the next week and he will recover," he said. Then he coughed, and his gaze when he looked at her was concerned. "Caler was pretty out of it, but he mentioned something about wolves."

Freya nodded. "Yes, he said he had been attacked by werewolves," she said.

The priest nodded in return. "Yes, well, good news is that Lycanthropy isn't contagious," he said quietly.

Freya breathed a sigh of relief, a slight smile teasing the corner of her lip. "That is very good news," she said.

"Yes," the priest said. "But werewolves are very territorial, so I've heard. They won't go away once they've established a hunting ground."

Freya saw where the priest was going with this. It was the same everywhere. As soon as there was a problem they expected her to deal with it. Not this time. Freya wasn't going anywhere without Calder. "The guard will be able to take care of it."

"Yes, but..."

Freya shook her head. "Thank you for coming, Priest, but I am not leaving my housecarl until he recovers. Please close the door as you leave."

The priest tried to stare her into submission. Freya refused. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and led him to the door, the alchemist having already left. Quietly but firmly she shut the door on him, and turned to look back into her home.

Blood pooled everywhere, and her feet had tracked bloody footprints throughout the house. Her vampire hearing, now that she was concentrating, picked up the sound of Calder's breathing from her bedroom. Quietly she sighed. Calder would be hungry when he woke up, and she didn't want him to see the house like this when he did. So quietly she went back into the kitchen, cleaned herself up, and went straight back to work.

It was almost first light of the next day by the time she had finished and made her way up the stairs. Her first thought was to check on Calder with her own eyes, to assure herself that he was indeed sleeping and not... No, she didn't want to think about it.

Coming to her door she looked in. Calder lay on her bed, the sheets covering his lower half and fresh, clean bandages covering the rest. A row of potion bottles lined the top of the drawers beside him. Quietly Freya tipped-toes her way to the table where her bee sat, buzzing away in his little jar. Exhausted she sat, her head falling to rest on her arms without her realising it. In the light of the low-burning coals, the two slept.

Freya woke to bright light shining on her face and the sound of coughing in her ears. Immediately she jerked up, her eyes flying to the man in her bed. Calder sat up, his back resting against the headboard as he downed a potion. Freya jumped up, and went to his side. "Calder? What's wrong?"

Calder shook his head. "I'm fine, woman. This damned concoction... it tastes like skeever droppings!"

Skeever... droppings?

Freya couldn't help herself. After the last day and night of worrying, all he had to say was... skeever droppings? A small snort escaped from her lips.

Calder looked up at her. "And just what are you laughing at? You're not the one who has to drink this foul brew."

Freya shook her head, a smile shining. "I don't care," she said as she sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm just glad you're awake."

Calder raised an eyebrow. "So glad you came to my bed without your clothes, I see," he said.

Freya looked down again, and realised that she was still naked. "And you must be well, I see, for you are back to your usual self."

Calder grinned. "Well now, I didn't say I was complaining," he said.

Freya looked at him and laughed. "I didn't have any clothes remember. I gave them to YOU to carry."

Calder smiled genuinely. "They're in your wardrobe, my Thane."

"Good." Freya said, nodding. She rose to get up.

Calder's hand shot out, grabbing her wrists. "My Thane..." he started.

Freya sat back down. "What is it, Calder?" she asked. "Are you in pain."

Calder shook his head. "No.. I mean yes, but it isn't that. I..." calder looked at her. For the first time, Calder really looked at her. A small smile graced his lips. "Thank you, Thane."

Freya looked down at Calder's large hand encircling her wrist. A hand, so big and strong, that was almost brought down because of her. A small tear trailed across her cheek. "I'm sorry, Calder," she whispered.

Calder frowned. "Why?" he asked.

Freya covered his hand with hers, absentmindedly stroking it with her thumb. "I'm sorry I sent you back without me. You shouldn't have had to face them alone."

Calder sighed. "I don't need a babysitter. This was just a stroke of bad luck. You have nothing to be sorry for. The blame rests on my shoulders only."

Freya shook her head. "But Calder..." she whispered.

"Stop," Calder said. "You were there when I needed you. You bandaged me, cleaned my wounds, even got me a priest to finish the job. You saved my life, my Thane."

Freya smirked. "I had to. It wouldn't look good to Ulfric if I let you die."

Calder sighed again. "Is that the only reason why you saved me?"

Freya blinked. That question... Freya looked up at him, into his eyes. Calder stared back, and for once she couldn't see any barriers in his eyes. Calder laid bare before her, in more than just the literal sense. Freya opened her mouth to reply in the positive, to say that yes, she only save him to protect her standing with the Jarl but... but she couldn't do it anymore. "No, Calder," she said softly. "It wasn't the reason." Calder's fingers loosened around her wrist. The trailed slowly down to cover her hand where it laid pressed against the bed. Freya swallowed. "Don't ever do that to me again, Calder."

Gently, tentatively, Calder took Freya's hand in his. "I'll do my best, my Thane."

The guard held her, questioned her, as the two stitched up the larger wounds, packed them with gauze, and bandaged them. The guard didn't let her out until


End file.
